Maybe
by thegoffietwerb
Summary: Maybe tonight, he thought, I can finally set things right. Maybe tonight I can kill the boy.


_I started writing this about a year ago... Piccolo is actually my favourite character, and I've always been interested in his relationship with Kami. I dunno... this is just something I came up with. It's rather different than my other stuff... and by other stuff I mean my one other fanfic... but hopefully it isnt too... rubbish. It's mostly inspired by the Piccolo saga at the end of Dragonball and Kami's determination to stop him...I always wondered... if you wanted to stop him that badly... why didn't you get him while he was little? But I digress.  
-goffietwerb_

**Praise bounteous**  
**providence if you will**  
**that grants even an ogre**  
**a tiny glow-worm**  
**tenderness encapsulated**  
**in icy caverns of a cruel**  
**heart or else despair**  
**for in the very germ**  
**of that kindred love is**  
**lodged the perpetuity**  
**of evil.**

_-Chinua Achebe_

* * *

Maybe.

Forgoing chopsticks in favour of his hands, Son Goku finished shovelling what may have been spaghetti…or what may have been chow mein, into his mouth. He never really inspected his food, he was always just happy of the fact he was eating it. His attention was drawn from a plate of apples to a tall figure slinking silently past the window. This wasn't the first time he'd seen this, but he had never really thought it his business to question his sensei… tonight however…  
He turned to Mr. Popo who was cleaning away dishes. Goku saw that his face was blank; the Djinn seemed to be was agitated about something. The teenager swallowed his mouthful and took a deep breath.  
"Mr. Popo? Where is Kami-sama going? Is it the same place he always disappears to?"

The Djinn continued what he was doing, silent for a moment or two. He then looked towards the window that Kami, the Guardian of Earth, had just snuck passed in quite a hurried and shifty way. He sighed.  
"Yes. I think so."  
Popo turned away, and although he was never the sharpest knife in the drawer when it came to figuring out other people's feelings the boy sensed that something was not quite right.  
"He…he is _coming back_ isn't he?"

"I really don't know" Popo quietly replied.

* * *

Maybe.

Maybe tonight.

Perhaps tonight under this bright white moon, he thought, I can finally set things right. Maybe, for once, I can stop being the coward. Step up and face the music. Be a man.

Be a man. How hypocritical. There he was, towering…looming over the sleeping figure of a child, his fist clenching and unclenching, almost ready to snuff out the small life. Be a man…who was he kidding? Monsters kill children. Monsters led to the child ever coming into existence. A monster for a monster. It had to be done, his mistake had to be corrected…erased.

It hadn't taken long to find the child, who not only left a small but noticeable trail of destruction in its wake, but was not yet skilled enough to cloak his ki. That oh so distinctive ki signature. Blood red and crackling. A fire to be extinguished.  
Tonight Kami was back again, determined to do what he'd been trying to accomplish for the past four months. He was going to execute Damioh's son.

It must be done, he told himself, still unsure as to why he was having so much trouble performing the deed. Cowardice, he put it down to. An end to the child meant an end to himself. But he had to push past his selfishness. He deserved this, having let it all happen in the first place. But… But surely…  
He was so certain that what he was about to do was right. The child _couldn't _live, and he himself _shouldn't_. But then again, he'd been here in this spot and situation night after night, and he'd been certain each time. But each time, when the morning broke, he slunk back home, ashamed and down heartened.  
Maybe tonight he could kill the boy. No. Not boy. It.  
It wasn't a person. It was a tool, an instrument, a product of his own failings. It was a hollow, tainted and soulless copy of its predecessor. It was…

… so small.

He regarded the sleeping child, curled up in a ball to guard against the cold of the night. The small fire beside him was dying, and when it did go out, Kami knew that the child would wake up, sensing that there was nothing to protect it from the night, and what was out there within it. He'd seen it before. He could see it in the dark circles under the boy's eyes. The child never really slept too deeply, who could blame him? Life in the wilderness for anybody was harsh, and for a lone child, even harsher. There were many things out there that could carry off and devour an infant in the night, and until the boy was older, taller and stronger, there would be many almost sleepless nights ahead of him. The god clenched his fists a little tighter; he must see to it personally, that the boy never got any older. And neither would he. Three hundred plus years on earth was more that enough and he could trust Mr. Popo to find a successor. Although the young man who he was currently training, Son Goku, seemed to him to be perfect Kami material. Or would be. In a few years. Once he'd matured a little, once his voice had stopped squeaking. He was so young…

So young. A rustle and a small sigh came from the bundle at his feet, the child had rolled onto his back and Kami got a good look at his face. He wondered why this child had been given an appearance so similar to his own when his brothers looked so different. The boy's was a face almost identical to his own when he was young. Except for the nose. It was small and straight and a little upturned, whilst his own was hooked. He had never liked his nose. Perhaps Damiaoh didn't either. It looked like he'd used this chance to perform the only change to himself he had thought necessary. The vain bastard.  
He watched the nose wrinkle as the face around contorted.  
A bad dream maybe? No. No, don't wonder. Don't wonder. Just do. Do it. End it. Here and now. Before he wakes.

What if he did? What would he do? Say? Kami snorted quietly to himself, he could guess. He knew who he was dealing with. Damiaoh would sneer and growl and attack, even in the form of his young son. But then again, this prodigal son had something Kami's other half never had….some new essence. Something different he couldn't quite place his finger on. Damiaoh didn't _feel._ His son seemed to…no.  
Not possible.  
He was his sire incarnate.  
No emotions. Not real ones anyway. There couldn't be. Just hate and anger and bitterness. Monsters don't have hearts.

The old god of earth formed a tight fist, sparking white light silently and slowly forming around it into a small ki ball. Turning his palm toward the child; he took aim.

He turned his head away, finding himself unable to look at the child anymore, an invisible hand clutching at his chest. All the anger and self-loathing he felt for ever having unleashed Damiaoh unto the world cumulating within him, and yet, why did he still have to talk himself into it? Was he really so cowardly? That he'd put his beloved Earth in danger just to preserve his own life? There was no threat now…but soon…someday.

Popo had pleaded with him, that a god cannot commit suicide (and this was technically what he was doing, in some twisted, loop-hole-like fashion.) There must be some other way! Any way… please wait. Wait and we'll find a way. Mafuba? If not that then Son Goku can defeat him when the time comes…we could always…..  
Always what? Kami had asked.  
Popo had looked unconvinced, but genuine. We could always try converting. Redeeming. Take him under you wing, give him a chance, and give him a different path to follow.  
He had simply shook his head and walked away.  
Impossible. He had once tried with the boy's sire. Needless to say it hadn't worked.

The fire was nearly out, and in the distance, the first grey light of dawn could be seen creeping slowly over the plateau's and forests, as if wary to rush into a day that could be godless.

So why couldn't he kill Damiaoh's son? He would be ending the life of a child who hadn't done anything worthy of his sire (so far)…However much he was aware of how much damage letting the boy exist could do, he still felt as if… it was unfair…and worst of all – that it would put him on par with the sort of evil Damioh would commit.  
_Is this how far I've fallen?_

He looked back; the ball had been reformed, somewhat tighter than before, as if the little one could sense Kami's malevolent presence. _Intuitive little bastard_. He had to give him that. How else would he have survived out here so long? Even he had once had a home, a refuge to retreat to when things got too difficult growing up. This wretched little thing didn't. Would never.

Kami felt a twinge in his chest, a feeling he could neither place as pity or even some strange sort of admiration for the child's determination to survive.  
Or Damioh's determination, anyhow.

The ball of energy melted into the air, and Kami's hand fell back to his side.  
He could sense that his time for tonight was almost over. It was now or never.  
Or as the case was, as it always was, that it was now or never or maybe some other night.  
He took another few steps away, exhaling a deep weary sigh. A sigh which was simultaneously reciprocated a couple of meters behind him. Kami shivered. Yet another reminder of just how connected they were. And maybe that was it.  
Maybe that's why I can't...

It's a long shot, the old man thought to himself as he gazed up at the fading night sky. But maybe, just maybe, its fate that I can't go through with this.  
A quiet mumbling arose behind him, and an odd feeling of curiosity came over the guardian. Slowly, he slinked back to the bundle's side. Talking in its sleep. The boy was dreaming of something. A small smile appeared. Something nice. Something warm and wonderful.  
He bent down and very carefully, touched the child's head. Gently. Barely.  
The little one remained motionless for a moment, but almost unnoticeably to anyone but the god, leant unconsciously towards the contact. Like any other child would.  
Kami drew his hand away with lightning fast speed, both surprised at the boy's reaction and his own temerity to begin with.

Maybe…maybe there's a chance what Mr. Popo said was right? Kami bit his lip. In the beginning, he himself had borne that seed of darkness which could have so easily taken him over, but he had fought it. He had overcome that evil in his heart. Maybe…the boy had it in him. To fight his demons (or more appropriately, Demon King), and win. Oh if life were only so kind.  
But it's not. So I know how this will play out, he told himself. Eventually he'll become who he was born to be, and then I'll get what's coming to me. Be it watching my precious world burn, or meeting imprisonment or indeed my end at his hands. If I can't do it now, I doubt I'll ever be able to defeat him. I should be able to now. To do the deed while he's powerless and unthreatening, because in time I wont be able to. When he becomes a monster.  
If he becomes a monster?  
No. No false hopes. He will. He is…

The tired, old god hung his head, resigned. The dew on the grass lit up the forest floor, shimmering like diamonds off into the horizon. Today was going to be a beautiful day. A day the slumbering boy so nearly didn't see.  
His failure to see this dreadful saga to the end weighed heavily on Kami's heart, and as he looked towards the sun his heart broke as he saw what he was putting at risk with his own self-preservation and cowardice.  
Maybe tomorrow night he'll try again.

His little foe smiled again as he slept, lopsided, as his own was when he was young.  
His first victory.

* * *

Son Goku awoke as the sun reached the highest point and it blared down into his eyes. Yawning and stretching, the teenager tried to come to his senses. It was daytime. He'd slept late. Why late? He'd been waiting for som – Kami-sama. He'd been waiting for Kami-sama. Was that why he'd fallen asleep outside? He got up and looked around. He's been worried about his sensei, he remembered. Especially since Mr. Popo had been visibly upset. This was spooky in itself, as Goku doubted that he'd ever seen more than two emotions on the djinn's face since he'd met him.

"You'll miss breakfast if you stay out there", a kind croaky voice called from the building. Kami-sama stood holding his staff by the door, smiling at his young student, who ran happily towards him.

"You came back."

"Of course."  
The dark-haired boy simply smiled at his sensei, then ran inside to claim his food. As he watched him scurry past, the lead-weight resting on Kami's heart lifted slightly.  
If the worst should happen, there's always Son Goku. And the worst probably will happen.

The child will probably end up a monster.

But maybe. Just maybe. Kami thought, considering the young man devouring his breakfast,  
He'll end up a hero.

* * *

In the grey light of the morning, a forsaken child awoke.  
Warmer than usual.  
Confused and a little taken aback, small four-fingered hands pawed at something which had not been there when he'd fallen asleep; a cotton-like material covered him, white, coarse and enveloping. It was promptly pulled off him and thrown down on the cold ground.  
A large white cloak.

Damioh's boy smiled.

-Fin-

* * *

_Yeah. so. Hope people liked it.  
__Well I hope it wasn't too pretencious. If that's how you spell it. As always, constructive criticism and comments are welcomed._

_Never mind... back to Fools Fall in..._


End file.
